


Lost Weekend

by orphan_account



Series: Miami Bound [2]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Advice, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Consensual Exhibitionism, Dildos, Dry Sex, Feelings, Lapdance, Light Masochism, M/M, Porn With Plot, Smut, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Voyeurism, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 11:25:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15728445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Over the course of a summer weekend, Morty experiences a sexual awakening with the help of his Miami counterpart.





	Lost Weekend

**Author's Note:**

> Times of day referenced in this story are a mix of Pacific Daylight and Eastern Standard. Time zone differences vary unpredictably between dimensions in this universe.

 

_Saturday, September 1st._

_Late morning._

 

This wasn’t the first time Morty had awoken with a start, skin sweltering and sticking to his bedsheets. That, and with his brown curls plastered to his forehead and to the nape of his neck. And he was breathless–always breathless and thinking to himself: _not again, not again–_

Because if he was keeping track, this was the third time this had happened in the current week alone. But honestly, it’s not remarkable that he woke up sweaty, that happens to _everyone_ , it’s just that every time his dick is straining painfully in his boxers, and he’s mindlessly humping the air above his mattress–and frankly, it’s kind of embarrassing.

However, that also happens to everyone from time to time. But the thing is, most people don’t get hard because they were having a wet dream about their–

He halts that train of thought and forcibly steers his thoughts towards Jessica. 

Jessica, with her red hair and full hips, perky boobs, and beautiful smile–and thin, pale arms that hold him down while the stench of alcohol wafts over his face–

Woah. Hold on–that last part has _nothing_ to do with Jessica.

He frantically pulls his laptop from the edge of his bed. No need to fumble around, he’s got all his favorite porn sites open already. 

He has in mind the one that’s got the bottle blonde with the bleached asshole and fake tits. Yeah, that one’s pretty good.

When it starts playing, a familiar exaggerated moan resounds in his headphones and he lies back, tries to get into it. 

But he can’t get himself to pay attention, and oddly enough he notices that the guy who’s fucking her has a Nintendo Switch sitting on his dresser. 

_‘Hey, that’s kind of cool.’_ Morty thinks, distracted.

He gets pulled out of his inane thoughts, though, when the girl burps, and the pair on screen both laugh about it, but wait–does that even happen in porn?

Morty doesn’t really know, but in his mind now there’s a low voice, half asleep, telling him, ‘ _Get me another XO,_ ’ then Morty hears a short, strangled burp, and then: ‘ _I need to fill my f–f–flask you little shit._ ’ 

And it makes Morty rage–rage against the errant thoughts trapped in his head, barely contained.

He shoves his laptop in an annoyed huff, it slides off the bed, and then he quickly realizes his mistake. 

“Oh shit, _no no no_ …” Morty hops off the bed and scoops up his laptop, inspecting it for any damage. 

It’s fine.

But everything else is _far_ from fine.

What’s more, he’s unsure where to turn for answers. He has a highly specific problem and no, he definitely won’t be taking it to Google. 

And he won’t be looking it up on his porn sites either because he knows it just won’t be the same.

The only other option that he can think of is-

He opens the contact list on his phone. 

He scrolls down, trying to find the only person who would understand. He’s not even sure what he’s going to ask, what he’s going to say, he just knows he needs _some_ kind of help.

When he sees the right name, he makes the call. 

It turns into a FaceTime, though, and he’s not really in the mood to show his unruly appearance, but it’s too late.

 _“Hey other me, it’s been a while! So, did you run a marathon or something? You look wrecked.”_ The smooth voice on the screen says. 

“Hey G-45, n–no I didn’t. I actually, um, uh, heh, geez–how do I say this? I don’t really know where t–to start, uh–“

 _“Oh God C-137, just spit it out!”_ G-45 insists, and C-137 sees the video feed shift a bit to reveal that G-45 is laying on his chest, sprawled out on a beach chaise and judging from the perspective of his surroundings, it looks like the teen is tanning poolside on a rooftop, C-137 can’t really tell where however. 

G-45 pushes up his pink mirrored sunglasses to the top of his head and turns down the 80s pop music playing in the background. C-137 sees his eyes lack the usual accentuating coat of makeup, and it makes him look more boyish. Even still, he manages to look alluring and confident, two things that C-137 feels he’s sorely deficient in. 

“Okay, okay. I just wanted to know, um, when did you figure out you started liking Rick–uh, I mean l–like being a–attracted to him.” C-137 stutters out. 

G-45’s eyes brighten and he flashes C-137 a luminous smile like it’s the best thing he’s ever heard.

 _“C-137, with a crush on Rick? And he wants to fuck? My Rick owes me some money now. Yes!”_ G-45 squeals. 

“Wait, were you guys betting on when we would–“

 _“Yep!”_

C-137 drags a hand down his face in frustration and lets out a groan. 

_”Oh come on C-137, I’m pretty sure your Rick wants you back if that makes you feel better!”_ G-45 reassures. 

“Really? But how do I tell him I–I’m interested? How did you tell him y–you wanted… it?”

G-45 smirks at him, licks his lips. _“Mmm… He fucked me in the backseat of his convertible after Homecoming dance, that’s how.”_

“Um... I–I don’t think that’s helpful. For me.” C-137 mutters uncomfortably. 

_“Look C-137, it’ll happen some way, somehow. Whenever it happens, though, you just have to be prepared.”_

“What d–does that mean?” 

_“I mean you have to get your ass ready. I bet you don’t even own a dildo, or a butt plug, do you?”_

C-137 shakes his he nervously. 

_“I know. Don’t worry, I’m buying you all my favorite toys. What’s your address? No–don’t tell me, I already have it.”_

“W–wait you don’t have to buy me stuff, I think–”

_“No C-137. You need this. In the meantime, do you know how to finger yourself?”_

“Uh–kind of.” 

G-45 jerks the camera in a certain way so C-137 gets a partial view of his backside and sees that he’s fully nude. 

“Woah, you’re naked!” C-137 exclaims.

_“Yeah. No tan lines!”_

Just then G-45 looks off camera, and C-137 hears the sound of plates clattering, and a voice saying: _‘The Easy Mac and instant ramen you requested, sir.’_

G-45 thanks the person out of frame, and C-137 watches in disbelief. 

“W–what kind of fancy hotel serves Easy Mac?” C-137 asks.

G-45 laughs. _“I’m at the house.”_

“Wait, s–so you have a chef and you–you’re naked on your rooftop pool, and you’re asking for Easy Mac and instant ramen? Aren’t y–you supposed to be eating caviar, or whatever wealthy people eat?” 

_“Why? Caviar tastes like salty dirt, and don’t even get me started on escargot. Rich people food is gross.”_

“Geez, I wouldn’t know.”

_“You’re not missing out. Anyway, let me show you how to finger yourself before my food gets cold.”_

“Sure, uh–Okay.”

G-45 brings the camera down and under his chest, takes the bottle of tanning oil from somewhere outside the frame and squeezes some of it onto his fingertips, using it as a of lubricant. He lifts his hips off the chaise, and C-137 watches G-45’s middle finger disappear into his asshole. 

_“So, make sure you’re clean down there, and when you are, you start with one finger, then when you get used to it, put in a second one. But, you could try finding your g-spot with the one finger in the meantime. Mine’s a little farther up from the entrance, so is yours probably. It feels so good when you–”_

G-45 gasps, apparently having found that aforementioned erogenous zone. C-137 looks away, feeling strange that watching the other him like this is starting to arouse him.

 _“Hey! Are you paying attention?”_ G-45 exclaims when he notices C-137 gaze shift. 

”I–I am!” C-137 responds feebly, looking back at him again. 

_“Okay. Good. So, you start adding even more fingers once you’re loosened up, and as you go, eventually try to fit as many as you can handle. And if you’re adventurous, someday, you’ll be able to fit your whole hand in. Rick fisted me once; it was pretty fun. But that can kind of ruin your asshole, so don’t do it often, unless you end up liking rosebudding, who knows? You might.”_ G-45 says, grinning mischievously, and he slips three more fingers inside himself all at once, C-137 hears him sigh at the ensuing pleasure. 

Morty doesn’t even know what he’s talking about when he says _‘ruin your asshole,’_ and he thinks he doesn’t want to know. And watching G-45 openly pleasure himself is becoming a bit less awkward now, since he’s realized that it’s like looking into a mirror, only the reflection is showing him an ideal version of himself that exudes sexual prowess. 

But the idea that this _could_ be him gets him going, and now he’s starting to sense a hot feeling down his spine that wasn’t there before.

“God, I think I’m g-getting turned on now…” C-137 mumbles to himself. “Does that–does that make me a narcissist?” He wonders aloud. 

_“What? You’ve never fucked in front of a mirror before? Oh, that’s right–I forgot, probably not because you’re a virgin.”_ G-45 thrusts his hips forward as he says it, continuing to stimulate himself.

“Hey! I g–g–got a Gazorpazorp sex robot pregnant once! But wait, does that even c–count?” 

_“N–no, that doesn't count.”_ G-45 stammers, face strained. 

“Oh God…” C-137 groans, putting his face in his hands. He could technically argue that that encounter counted towards losing his virginity, since he did have an offspring to show for it, but in terms of he himself getting fucked, he was starting at square one with that. And he realized he needed G-45’s help after all, as weird as the whole thing made him feel. 

_“Hey C-137, I think, hah, I think I’m going to hang up now–you watching me is turning me on too much. Unless you want to see me come, but I might drop my phone doing it.”_

“N–no G-45, you can uh–I don’t have to watch anymore.” 

_“Okay. I hope you learned something. Call m–me anytime if you need help… Oh–fuck, I’m c–close! Bye!”_

And then the screen goes blank. 

C-137 stays in his bed, laying in total silence, a wave of thoughts now coursing through his mind.

He sets his phone aside and slides a hand down the inside of his boxers to practice what he’s just learned. 

He lets himself think about Rick while he does it.

 

_Sunday, September 2nd._

_Midnight._

 

C-137 is sitting at his desk in his room when he hears a distant sound of muffled music coming from somewhere close to him. He reaches into his back pocket to see his cellphone is on, a blur of indistinguishable images move across the screen. When he notices his own face staring back at him in the corner of the frame, he realizes he must’ve accidentally butt dialed whoever’s on the other end. 

_“Hey! I’m kinda busy right now, but if you stay on we can talk after I’m finished dancing. I’m almost done!”_

A flash of lush blond hair fills the frame–it’s G-45, and he’s giving him a wink. His cheek is resting against a metal pole, but then he points his cellphone down at the crowd on the ground, his face no longer in view.

 _“Look how high up I am Morty!”_ He yells over the loud music.

“Wait, why do you have your phone o–out while you’re, you’re dancing?” C-137 questions, finding himself matching the loudness of G-45’s voice so the other can hear him.

_“Saturday nights are for selfies! I dunno, it’s an Instagram thing.”_

The video feed spins into a blur again, and C-137 realizes his counterpart is twisting around on the metal pole. 

C-137 hears cheering from down below, and G-45 sticks his cell phone out in front of him, angling it towards the crowd again, and yells: _“Hey everyone! Say hi to my… my friend!”_

C-137 hears a collective cheer and a few people say: _‘Hey Morty’s friend!’_

And then G-45’s end of the video call becomes distorted again, and C-137 notices he’s now standing on the stage. 

_“Wait one more minute!”_ G-45 says, and he’s holding his phone so C-137 can see him from the waist up. 

People from the crowd start stuffing folded up bills into the straps of his outfit, and then he turns around and disappears behind the stage. 

G-45 turns the camera view so C-137 can see the room he walks into–the walls are lined with brightly lit mirrors and women sitting around in various states of undress. 

One woman looks up at G-45 and mutters _‘oh shit’_ under her breath, quickly finishes up with the clasp on her heels and rushes out of the room, presumably to go up on stage. 

_“Ugh, look at her go. Why is Vanessa always late getting on?”_ One of the women aks.

 _“She just hates going after Morty, right baby? Hard to top someone as good as you.”_ Another says, looking up at G-45. 

_“Hey, who's that you’re FaceTiming right now?”_ Another one chimes in. 

_“He’s my friend! Everyone say hi!”_

Everyone greets C-137 when G-45 switches his camera view once more, and C-137 does his best to appear blasé at the sight of so many casually naked women. 

G-45 saunters over to a dark-skinned woman sitting in the far end of the room and climbs onto her thighs. 

_“This is Nicole.”_ G-45 turns so that both of their faces are in the frame. _“And right next to her is Emily.”_ A tanned, freckled woman sitting next to Nicole waves, smiling. 

_“So, wanna learn about foreplay?”_ G-45 whispers dramatically into the camera.

And then G-45’s hips fill the frame at the point where they’re pressed against Nicole’s waist.

 _“Watch this.”_ The teen instructs, and he raises his hips and starts undulating them gradually, the video feed distorts for a quick second, and then C-137 realizes that Nicole has taken the cellphone from G-45’s hand so that he can see G-45 upper body entirely, not just his hips. 

G-45 then slowly drags his manicured fingers down her chest, gently rubbing her nipples.  
_“Rick likes it if you do this, but shhh don’t tell your Rick I told you. Rick doesn’t want anyone to know.”_ The other stripper exhales softly beneath him, and G-45 leans forward to lightly bite her lip. _“He likes that too.”_

Then Nicole brings their mouths together into a messy kiss.

“Umm… So you’re b–basically saying I should–I should bite him… In places?” C-137 asks curiously, watching them.

C-137 hears a muffled _‘mhmm,’_ and then G-45 pulls away to softly sink his teeth into the tender skin right above Nicole’s collarbone. G-45 murmurs, _“He also loves it when you bite him there.”_

He then starts to angle his body higher so that he’s circling his hips closer to her navel, resting his hands on her shoulders to hold himself up.

Then suddenly, the sound of a door slamming open captures the attention of the pair on the other end of the screen. 

_“Hey! Morty, you need to come help me BRPP do the inventory finally–wait, is that…?”_ And then C-137 sees Rick G-45’s face fill the screen. 

_“I was just showing him some foreplay for when he fucks his Ri–”_

Rick G-45 interrupts his Morty: _“O-okay, I have a really good idea for that a-actually Morty, but I’ll tell you in the hallway.”_ His tone is admonishing, evidently not thrilled about G-45 parading another dimension’s version of them to the uninitiated. 

Morty G-45 gets up in a huff and takes his phone back from Nicole. The video feed dims as the two reach the hallway, away from the other room. 

_“Y–you–you better thank me that every girl in there is high off their tits Morty, you could’ve blown our cover.”_

G-45 laughs. _“Yeah, sure Rick.”_

_“Just–whatever Morty. Anyway, he wants to fuck his Rick then? Alright. The m–money you won in this bet is coming out of your tips.”_

_“What, you asshole–”_

_“I’m just kidding, don’t get all URPP bitchy Morty. Anyway, if you’re going to be showing him how to lapdance, why don’t you just do it in his dimension?”_

Rick G-45 pulls portal gun from inside his jacket, points it at the wall. 

“ _Have fun. I’m coming back for you in ten minutes though Morty, we have work to do!”_

C-137 sees from over the other Morty’s shoulder that Rick G-45 abruptly pushes him through the portal.

The other teen stumbles into C-137’s room, wobbling a bit before straightening himself out. He brings his wrist up to his face to wipe some stray spit (presumably from kissing the other stripper) from the corner of his mouth, then saunters to C-137.

When he’s close, C-137 can see his pupils are slightly expanded, and underneath his tropical scent is a light smell of smoke mixed with sweat, as well as something else he can’t place. 

“Are y–you high?” C-137 questions as G-45 grabs his shoulders to position himself on his lap.

“No. I don’t need to be high to perform like the other strippers. And why does it even matter?” G-45 questions defiantly. 

“I guess it doesn’t.” 

G-45 chuckles under his breath, says, “Well, actually, I am a little tipsy.” 

But C-137 doesn’t respond to his admission, instead he looks away pensively. “Wait, y–your Rick made a portal gun, how?” He asks.

G-45 shrugs. “I dunno. I guess the way all the other Ricks figured it out. Anyway, pay attention. Thinking about my Rick’s portal gun isn’t going to get you laid.”

“Uh, o–okay.” 

G-45 bends forward. “I’m going to show you again what I did to Nicole, alright?” G-45 whispers in his ear. 

C-137 swallows thickly, nodding. He’d never been given this much intimate attention before by anyone, and if he was honest with himself he felt a bit overwhelmed with it all. 

G-45 tips C-137’s chin up so their eyes meet. 

“Hey. It’ll be better if you don’t overthink it. You still want this, right?” 

“Y-yeah.” C-137 replies shyly. 

G-45 sees his timid expression and sighs, then gets up so he’s no longer sitting on C-137’s lap. 

“Look, why don’t you try what I just showed you on me instead? Do it whatever way feels good. Sound good?” 

“Um, you sure that’s a, a good idea? You won’t fucking laugh at me?” 

G-45 scoffs. “Why? We all have to start somewhere–just give it a shot. It’s not that hard, I promise.” 

“Okay.” C-137 says, getting up off his desk chair to trade places with G-45. 

And now it’s him sitting on G-45, feeling a little stupid because he doesn’t remember at all what to do. 

But then G-45 puts his hands on his ass, and it causes him to jerk up a little, and then it’s all coming back to him despite his nerves.

He starts moving his hips, imagining that he must look awkward. But if he does, the other teen doesn’t comment, like he promised he would refrain from doing. 

It ends up just being him grinding his crotch against the bare skin of G-45’s stomach, and the other teen doesn’t stop him. 

At some point C-137 brings their faces together, foreheads touching, large eyes meeting large eyes. 

“Can I kiss you?” G-45 breathes, batting his mascara’d eyelashes at his counterpart.

C-137 nods. 

G-45’s mouth is warm and sweet with a pungent taste of sugary pineapple. 

(And incidentally, to G-45, C-137 doesn’t have much of a flavor, just slightly salty, which he happens to like.) 

He uses his tongue to try to gain more access, and C-137 lets him have it. 

C-137 now finds his hands trailing down G-45’s bare chest, fingers rubbing off glitter along the way. 

At some point, C-137 feels a swift spark of courage–he stops kissing G-45 and moves to bite his lower lip, trying to emulate what the other teen had shown him back at the stripclub. 

But due to being inexperienced, C-137 clamps down too harshly, causing G-45 to jolt back, wincing in pain. 

“Not so _hard_.” G-45 mutters. C-137 sees that he’s drawn blood; G-45 goes to wipe it away, but C-137 catches his wrist before he can do so.

He angles forward and swipes his tongue across the wound, licking away the slight amount of blood; the other teen hums in approval. 

“You’re a quick learner.” G-45 whispers against his lips. 

“You like it?” C-137 asks coyly, eyes wide as if begging for approval.

G-45 smirks when he hears him, thinking maybe C-137 can use his innocence to his advantage after all. 

But before G-45 can answer, the pair hears a quiet shuffling sound next to them and turn to see its source. 

It turns out to be G-45’s Rick, adjusting himself on the edge of the bed, having likely appeared there via portal before they noticed him. 

“ _Mm._ Ten out of ten. Specially with the–the _blood_ … God.” Rick G-45 says with a hint of admiration.

“When did you get in here? It hasn’t even been ten minutes.” G-45 questions.

C-137 attempts to rise from his spot on the other’s thighs, assuming that things have ended, but G-45 yanks him back down so that C-137’s crotch collides with his abdomen. The abrupt press on C-137’s growing hard-on makes him let out a nearly inaudible gasp. 

“Sorry Morty, I might’ve exaggerated a little timewise.” Rick G-45 casually watches C-137 writhe on top of his Morty, and shakes his head. “Fucking shame we have to leave though. You both look so–so fuckable right now.” He mutters. 

“Come on Rick, don’t you wanna watch just a little longer?” G-45 drawls, gliding his hands inside C-137’s shirt, delicately running his fingers down the warm skin of his back.

“Oh–oh God…” C-137 mumbles, shivering from the pleasant sensation of G-45’s nails scratching his back. 

“You already know that I want to Morty, but we’ve put this off long enough. It’s not my fault you always wanna BRPP fuck when we have to do boring shit.” Rick G-45 pulls out a toothpick from his pocket and fidgets with it, his eyes still trained on C-137.

“ _Me?_ You’re the one who’s always starting stuff. And you–you’re the one who’s always yanking _my_ clothes off.” G-45 says, now trailing his fingers down to the small of C-137’s back.

Rick G-45 shrugs. “Yeah, well, you always know we have work to do, but you never stop me, so I th-think it’s your fault too.” 

Morty G-45 rolls his eyes. “You _know_ I’ll never say no to you Rick.” 

And then he slides his hand inside C-137’s pants, over the small curve of his ass, hovering above his entrance.

Rick G-45 grabs his arm, stopping from going any further and doing the inevitable. 

“Come on Morty. We’ll be here until the next fucking century if you, if you do that.” 

“Fine.” Morty G-45 takes his hands off of C-137 and the latter dazedly stands up so G-45 can climb out of the desk chair. 

Rick G-45 also ges up and takes out his portal gun. 

“Sorry C-137. But hey, look–” Morty G-45 picks up a sealed Amazon delivery box from C-137’s desk, shaking it. “You can finish off with these! Thank god for same-day shipping, right?” 

“You got him a butt plug?” Rick G-45 asks.

“And some other things.” His Morty replies, chuckling. 

Rick G-45 pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing frustratedly. “I can’t handle this anymore. I’m going to need a cold shower when we get back. I can’t do shit with what you two are doing to me right now.” 

A circular blaze of green appears before them, and the G-45 pair walk towards it. 

“Bye–text me after you try them out!” Morty G-45 says, and then in the next second they’re gone. 

“Bye…” C-137 says to no one in particular. 

And in the dimly lit stillness of his room, he gingerly brushes his finger over the cardboard of the delivery container. 

He flips it over, dumping the contents over his bed and goes to work unboxing each item, one by one.

 

_Sunday, September 2nd._

_Noon._

 

(1:09pm)

 **Hey. Tried some of the stuff. Had a question about the butt plug. U free?**

 

(1:14pm)

_Yea bby call me. <3 _

 

When C-137 calls, he sees G-45’s face appear on screen sans makeup, and he’s lying on his chest just like when C-137 had called yesterday noon, but this time he’s on what’s likely a bed. His face is slightly flushed, but C-137 doesn’t think much of it. 

_“What do you–you wanna know?”_ G-45 aks, sounding out of breath. 

“Um, is e–everything cool with you?” C-137 questions. 

_“Yeah yeah, definitely–”_ G-45 chokes out, his fingers gripping the fabric of the bead spread underneath him. 

“It doesn’t, uh, look like it.”

 _“Just fucking ask the question M–“_ And then G-45’s eyes widen, and he abruptly covers his mouth, making a stifled sound into his palm. 

And then a hand that clearly isn’t his pries his fingers away, and the camera shakes a little. 

G-45’s Rick suddenly comes into view, pressing the side of his face against G-45’s cheek. He’s grinning slyly and glancing sideways at G-45, and says, _“I w–w–wanna hear you Morty, I don’t give a shit if you’re trying to have a UGHPP conversation while I’m fucking you.”_

C-137’s mouth falls open in shock. 

“I thought you, you said you weren’t busy G-45!” 

_”I know, but I wanna teach you how to get fucked properly. Look, if you called me at some other time you’d probably still catch me during another round, so it really doesn’t matter.”_

“Wow. So–so you guys are just always fucking each other or something?”

_“No, but Rick’s been cutting down on the coke recently. How else is he going to fill his time nowadays?”_

_“By filling you.”_ Rick G-45 cuts in, followed by a sharp cry coming from his Morty when the former thrusts forward.

And for a split second C-137 imagines it’s _his_ Rick saying that to him, and the ensuing sense of longing is overwhelming. It overshadows the constant feeling that he barely knows what he’s doing, can scarcely keep up with everything the other Morty’s been throwing at him, but now all he knows is that he _wants_ his Rick. Badly.

His hand lingers over the button on his pants, but he stops himself, the idea of getting off to another version of himself and his Rick is still odd to him, he can’t seem to shake it.

_“Don’t worry Morty, I’ll show you some stuff, and it’ll b–be quick. You’re gonna get me there so fucking fast.”_

“How could I _‘get you there_?' We’re not even in the same d–dimension.” 

Rick G-45 rolls his eyes and answers before his Morty can:

_“Oh come on C-137, don’t you, don’t you get it by now? My Morty wants you to see him get fucked. He definitely let you call him so he URRP could convince you to watch us.”_

Morty C-137 arches an eyebrow, taken aback that this Morty truly is the opposite of him and his sort in almost every conceivable way. 

“Really? Does that make you an, um, what’s the word? An exhibitionist, M–Morty?” He asks.

The other teen gazes up at him with a devilish grin, licking his lips as he says:

 _“Why don’t I show you?”_

Morty C-137 nods dumbly, transfixed. He has no idea why, or how, but the way the other teen looks at him, and the manner in which his words are charged with a kind of velvety assuredness–it’s far more arousing than anything he’s seen, to be sure. 

Morty G-45 passes his cellphone to his Rick so that C-137 can get a better view, and then it’s all a haze after that. C-137 attempts to pay attention through it all, but he can’t stop fantasizing that it’s him getting bent over, getting his hair tugged, and at some point when Morty G-45 says: _‘And did you know? Rick loves that too, just grab his hair from behind like this...’_ and then his Rick responds with: _‘Así–así, y ahí, ah–’._ It all gets him going, even though he doesn’t understand what Rick G-45 is even saying.

All the while, the other teen is telling him about what it means to be a bottom, but that he prefers being power bottom, and then something about gaining control by using one’s hips and C-137 doesn’t catch the rest, just keeps looking on rapturously. 

And then G-45 makes a point to say that C-137 should be relaxed, because if he’s tense the sex won’t be good, and C-137 can’t help but laugh inwardly at that–he’s never been relaxed about _anything_ in his goddamn life. 

And that’s the last of what C-137 can truly remember, because while he’s engrossed in observing what the pair on the screen are doing, he’s not retaining anything else G-45 is saying. It’s because he’s not a great multi-tasker–what with the fact that he’s given up, deciding to palm himself with his free hand _after all_ while futilely trying to convince himself that watching another Rick and Morty fuck is somehow educational. 

He watches until eventually the other teen drops the whole instructional act, until C-137 sees the other can barely string together a few sentences let alone words. 

He stays on until the very end, to notice when things gradually turn intimate when he hears the pair declare a string of breathless _I love yous_ to each other. He’s too captivated by them to feel uncomfortable or awkward about it, just finds that hearing them reaches to the core of him, to a part of himself he rarely thinks about. 

Because while Ricks have collectively begun treating their Mortys marginally better (including his own) after a few years of retaliation by Mortys, allegedly arbitrary emotions like love are still off the table. He wonders absently if the G-45 pair realize just how much their romance flies in the face of everything most of Ricks and Mortys believe about themselves. 

And then, when it’s all over, C-137 is torn from his private musings when out of the blue Morty G-45 asks him what his question was about his butt plugs. 

C-137 laughs and tells him not to worry about it.

He thinks he can figure it out on his own.

 

_Sunday, September 2nd._

_Night_.

 

C-137 stares up at the white, blank expanse of his bedroom ceiling. 

He’s absently gripping his bed sheets; his heart is racing. He has no idea why–okay– _no_ , he knows exactly why. 

He feels it in the twitch of his hand, in the chaotic swirl of his thoughts, in the fact that he can’t think of doing anything else right now. 

He gets up, leaving the comfort of his room. He tries to be calm, he really does, but he knows he probably looks like a twitchy mess walking down the stairs. He’s thankful that his parents aren’t home tonight to notice. 

He pauses to take a breath, pulls his cellphone out of his pocket, sends a quick text.

 

(10:32pm)

 **Think I’m gonna do it now.**

 

He stuffs his phone back in his pocket, and it vibrates a moment later, but he doesn’t bother to check the reply. 

He crosses in front of the living room, then makes his way to the door leading into the garage. 

He walks through and locks it behind him. 

His Rick is standing in front of a section of his workbench by the wall of the garage, preoccupied with tinkering with a cluster of vibrant crystals.

He looks up at Morty casually. 

“Oh, h–hey,” He lets out a short belch–and while he’s talking Morty walks towards him. “I’m a little busy with this, can you–“

Morty takes all the courage he doesn’t have, snatches a fist full of Rick’s lab coat and crushes their mouths together. 

Rick’s eyes expand comically, appearing stunned like he’s been taken off guard. But then, his expression relaxes a fraction and he goes back to looking like a mix of his usual self with just a hint of bewilderment in his eyes.

The kiss starts off chaste, but Rick gets with the program quickly and opens his mouth wider and for quick second everything is pure bliss. 

But, before he lets things go any further, he feels like he needs to talk to Morty about this, maybe half heartedly convince him it’s a bad idea, as much as he’s _needed_ this for several months now. 

He pulls away from Morty. 

They’re both breathing hard, and Morty’s cheeks are a little red. His hair is mussed up probably from having been lying in bed, but it only adds to the effect. 

And now, Rick finds suddenly that he simply can’t find the words to say, Morty’s made him forget them all.

He opens his mouth to at least _try_ and say something, closes it, opens it again, but he’s got nothing.

Morty’s paying attention to Rick at first, but then he loses his patience and starts unzipping his own pants and pulling them down. 

Rick sees what he’s doing, abandons trying to form coherent words and starts unbuckling his belt.

He then hitches Morty’s leg around waist, and then he realizes he doesn’t have any lube down here, he’d just run out, _dammit_ –but then Morty’s pulling a tube out of his pocket, and, wow, Morty _actually_ prepared for this.

The elder scientist takes it, squeezes a bit onto his fingertips, and starts with one finger, sliding it into Morty’s entrance. 

But Morty hisses at the contact, clenches so that Rick has to take his hand away. 

“Come on Morty, you have to _relax_ , it’s only one right now, alright?” Rick mutters, locking eyes with Morty, whose face is turning increasingly apprehensive. 

Morty swallows, nodding. He hears Morty G-45’s voice in his head echoing similar words.

_You have to be relaxed, okay?_

But he can’t loosen up, no matter how hard he tries, and he feels he’s ruining his first time with Rick over his stubborn nerves.

At some point, Rick even tries repositioning them so he’s sort of sitting on the edge of the workbench and Morty’s halfway on top of him, in order to get a better angle, but it doesn’t work.

Rick sighs, a little disappointed with how things have turned out. He pulls Morty’s underwear back up, and then goes to fix his own.

“Alright, uh, I guess the first URPP time is shitty for everyone. No–no worries, we can try again tomorrowoahh–shit, Morty, fuck–”

Morty ignores what he’s saying and pushes his hips against Rick, grinds his crotch down onto him. And the teen’s moving his hips in such a calculated way, it makes Rick wonder just _how_ much Morty had been preparing for this moment.

And Morty, with newly found determination, drags his fingers through Rick’s hair and yanks his head back, the force of it causes Rick to lean back further on the workbench until he’s lying on it, and his elbow collides with some of the crystals on the table, causing them to crash onto the ground. 

“ _Fuck_.” He breathes, but decides to deal with it later.

Morty’s now panting on his shoulder, and the teen absently remembers he should be raking his teeth down the others neck like G-45 advised him, and he does.

And then Rick makes an embarrassing sound that he hopes neither will discuss later when this is over. 

“You _little_ shit.” He grits out. 

He grabs Morty’s ass roughly, shoves their bodies impossibly closer, eliciting moans from both of them. 

Before Rick can even register what’s happening, Morty’s drawing his hand from his hair and sneaking it under his shirt, finds his right nipple and twists it.

And then it’s over for Rick.

His back arches against the surface of the table when his body reacts to what Morty’s doing to him, he feels like he’s losing it.

Later, he’ll think to himself that this wasn’t the way he’d imagined things starting off between them–he’s not accustomed to giving up so much _control_ , but he’ll allow it this time, since Morty’s giving much more than he’d bargained for.

Some time passes with only the sound of whimpers and gasps filling the otherwise quiet room. 

At some point, Morty angles down to bite Rick’s bottom lip, sucks it between his teeth. And now Rick’s white knuckling the edges of the workbench like it’s a lifeline, and he’s almost there, almost about to come, just needs a little more and–

“Are y–you gonna come for me, Rick? Are you gonna do it just for me, y-yeah?” 

Morty’s tone verges on condescending, and it nearly makes Rick go livid, because it should be _him_ saying those things to Morty. Morty, the young and inexperienced teenager should be the one to come first, not Rick.

But here he is, underneath Morty who’s holding all the cards, waving them in his face.

He’s already lost this battle, so he swallows his pride and nods at Morty. He was about to shoot back a scathing retort, but he’d rather not be faced with the challenge of trying to hold a conversation, presently.

Rick squeezes his eyes shut, moves his hands up to the section of Morty’s waist where his shirt has ridden up, digs his nails into pale skin there. When he hears Morty’s choked sob, his climax hits without warning, and he stills underneath the teen, who’s own release follows quickly after his.

And now it’s just the sound of their labored breathing, and the fleeting mellowness that sets in before they inevitably come back down to reality.

Morty’s face is buried in the crook of Rick’s neck, and the latter can feel his hot breath against his skin. 

Rick trails his hand down the teen’s back, feels him shiver slightly at the contact.

He takes that as his cue–he nudges Morty to get up before they get too comfortable and god forbid, _intimate_. 

“Hey, sorry, I gotta k–keep working…” Rick says gently, pointing back at the disarray of crystals behind him.

Morty nods and gets up, a little clumsily at first, but then he’s taking a few slow steps backwards. They stare at each other for a long, awkward moment, both expecting something else to be said, but neither speaks. 

The teen’s expression is unreadable as he turns around and leaves, the door closing quietly behind him.

Rick rises from the table, his back feeling stiff. He takes a moment to compose himself.

He decides that making Morty leave was perhaps a bit too harsh, but ultimately for the best, he didn’t want to stick around and make him feel better about what they’d just done, or ask him how he felt about it. Rick thought the teen should process whatever feelings he has about it on his own, since he was the one who instigated the whole thing to begin with. 

And while he might be slightly more considerate than before, would even go as far as to admit that he tries to avoid taking advantage of the teen as much as he used to, he couldn’t just let Morty stay in the garage, not only for his sake but for Rick’s as well. The elder wasn’t going to allow room for feelings–he’s not about to start doting and gushing over his Morty like Rick G-45 does. This wasn’t some kind of _romance_.

He’d heard his counterpart throw around the word _love_ when talking about his Morty. And to C-137, those were still just chemical reactions in his head. Just _distractions_.

C-137 would only come to recognize much later that right now, however, he was starting to drift into that strange place between love and indifference, which was more than what he was willing to feel for most other people. All those years cooped up in a space cruiser were bound to make him feel _something_ for the other teen, no matter how much he pushed it away. They’d gotten used to saving each other’s lives so often that suddenly the creeping fear of potentially having to experience life without one another would hang in the air, only to be quickly hidden behind a veil of apathy.

But just because he felt some insignificant emotion sometimes didn’t mean he would act differently towards Morty, well, back then it didn’t. And anyway, it was easy to disregard any kind of useless feelings he felt, what with Morty having become more bitter as the years passed. The teen’s mounting resentment over time towards him was something he could always shrug off. He was always in control, anway, and just because Morty had wised up and become privy to Rick’s behavior towards him meant nothing to the elder scientist. 

But he was wrong.

When Morty had turned sixteen, the nature of their dynamic would ultimately turn against Rick.

It happened after one of their adventures, Rick couldn’t exactly remember _what_ they were doing or _why_ they were doing it (after a while, all of their countless exploits had begun blending together). At some point, though, Morty had gotten seriously injured doing _god_ knows what. Rick, as usual, promised to get him back to normal with some kind of alien remedy, and when he cured him, Morty snatched his portal gun and left him there, told him with rage in his voice that he was sick of him.

Rick barely got out that dimension within an inch of his life. 

When he made it back to earth, Morty confronted him, and the pair finally leveled with each other. 

Rick would begin listening to Morty more often, allowed him to say no when he didn’t want to be a part of something, would even let him attend more days of school so he could have a chance at graduating someday.

But he wasn’t going to allow himself to _fall_ for him.

That just couldn’t happen.

 

_Monday, September 3rd._

_Labor Day._

_Mid Morning.  
_

 

When Morty left the garage he hadn’t cleaned himself up. He’d just gone up to his room, and laid there in his sticky underwear until he fell asleep.

Now that it was the next morning, he thinks he should feel disgusted about the whole thing, specially his soiled pants. But he doesn’t. 

He feels alright, actually. 

He checks his phone and sees a few texts from Morty G-45 asking how it went.

He smirks at it. G-45 would probably have an outburst if he told him his Rick made him go right after it was over. 

It makes him realize that up to that point, G-45 had been a tremendous help to him, but after the way his Rick ended things last night, he thought the other teen couldn’t possibly understand their relationship. Even though it was clear that G-45’s Rick had fucked him up too at some point, that situation was different. C-137 had a vastly differing history with his Rick. He sees now he’ll just have to figure out the aftermath of last night on his own

But that’s alright with him, because other than help him, he thinks his counterpart’s existence proves that a deeper connection is achievable amongst their ilk. And the teen feels he needed to become aware of that, to see it for his own eyes so that he can remind himself that it’s possible.

And that’s good enough for now, he thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic was taken from the name of a bar on Miami Beach. It’s a cool spot, but I’m not good at pool so I don’t go much. Also, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that September 2nd is my birthday and part of the reason this fic takes place during Labor Day weekend, so...
> 
> Anyway, third part of this series will be out in a month or two, and the tone will be darker and should have a lot more action. So hope everyone enjoyed this smut for now!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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